The Hipsterocalypse Has Begun
by thetoastlives
Summary: Dethklok as hipsters. With an ending which will make you laugh, want to brutally murder me, or both. Rated T for swearing and drug use, though the drug use and swearing are both fairly mild.


Pickles wondered briefly if his nickname was ironic enough. He thought some more and realized that since everyone wanted to be Thad or whatever, Pickles would soon again be an ironic hit. And then when everyone got in on that, he would shrug and just say he was being real, being him. Say he didn't care about trends. It was a brilliant goddamn plan.

He smiled and lowered his eyes to the buttons on the remote in his hands. It was old and vintage-y and perfect, but not very functional. Not that it mattered. He'd gotten in at a flea market and it was his pride.

Nathan walked in on his friend and smirked his most ironic smirk. It pushed up his wide brimmed glasses and they pressed his ears up into his thin brimmed fisherman's hat.

"Are you, like, legitimately enjoying Rachael Ray, right now?"

"Shut up, ya douchebag. Guys can cook too."

"Um, Pickles. I've tried your, uh, 'food'."

Pickles grunted and rolled his eyes. He'd cry misogyny if he hadn't been watching the chef for the sole purpose of ridiculing her.

"Hush. Mr. Doritos addict."

"You, uh, you drink Skyy."

"You shop at American Apparel."

Nathan glowered and realized that the time he had been caught at the god forsaken store by the paparazzi would be the death of him.

"Fine. Whatever."

The dark haired man plopped down next to his friend. He was kind of jealous that Pickles had inherited both the lanky and awkward genes AND the good looking with facial hair ones. Nathan had never had a baby face, but looked even worse with a beard. Like homeless Severus Snape. Scratch that, a homeless and still snooty Severus Snape who was a republican or something. At least he got to wear a feather or whatever without ridicule; it made up for the not having a beard or being a skinny bastard.

The true master of being a tall, skinny bastard sauntered into the room at that moment. His sweater was cable knit and ended just right on his waist, and the ball crunching khaki's he resided in met them seamlessly. Well, not seamlessly, but it was a nice look, damn it.

He tucked a blond hair behind his ear and fussed with his douchebag-ponytail. Once comfortable, he joined the others on the couch. Knitting needles moved skillfully in his finders and a bright orange sweater for his new kitty would soon be completed for documentation on instagram.

He was constantly knitting, his fingers moving at an inhuman speed. It was amazing, really. He may have very well have been the fastest knitter in the world.

Some loud Norwegian curing was heard from the DDR machine as Toki missed a step to the new custom dances to various hipster songs he had uploaded. The foot movements were surprisingly complicated, but combined with the robotic precision required for each of SPG's songs? It would be very, very challenging.

Finally the last, most heavily bearded bandmate entered the living area of the small, poorly located but extremely antique and expensive apartment.

"You guysh, thoshe girlsh at the shtarbucksh are total poshers, sheriously, itsh like they learned indie at fucking hot topic and found their irony at fucking american apparel."

"Dood, their babies let 'em be. 'Sides, you know you were only there so tumblr could hear about your turkey and swiss."

"Yeah, and they, uh, those tumblr people only care when, uh, when Toki has Pickles and Skwiss."

Pickles chuckled briefly and a whoop of approval was heard from the loud beeping of the dance machine. Skwisgaar gave a slight smirk, but he was making the complicated crochet of the frontal pattern of the tiny sweater, and refused to break concentration.

Because, you know, hipster internet people absolutely love gay jokes told in good humor towards themselves and bad taste toward someone else.

Pickles shifted and propped an elbow on Nathan's shoulder. Since, you know, they aren't homophobic metalheads at the moment.

"And you know how fuckin' crazy they would go if you ate a pickle flavor of dem off brand chips you always munch on?"

"Oh god, and if you, uh, if you wore one of my shirts to pinkberry or something."

"And if uh... If me and you guysh hugged in public once."

The two buddies gave a harsh, glaring look at Murderface.

"Dood, yew ain't part of this, learn yer fuckin' privilege, gahd."

"Yeah, uh, you aren't like, you aren't green-eyed, you have uh... no part of this."

And then, a giant octopus ripped open the dream land and it flooded with color. The octopus was hissing Nathan's name and he watched its swirling fluid light.

Pickles, again, tried to get Nathan to snap out of it.

"Dood, you get Charlie. I feckin' knew he shouldn'ta done dat much acid. Feck."

Nathan giggled faintly at the cursing octopus, and regarded the swiftly off flying owl in the background. He started petting the demonic ass bunny beside him and made little purring noises when the octopus tried to make him stop. The bunny wanted to be petted, bunnies love petting. He passed out as a hideous lion called him a fag.


End file.
